


Save the Date

by havetaoque



Series: Spideypool stories [5]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Daredevil - Freeform, Depression, Explosions, F/M, Fresh Start, Hurt, Identity, Infidelity, M/M, Mobsters, Sad, Sexy memories, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Violence, character death Deadpool
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-12 15:42:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11740116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havetaoque/pseuds/havetaoque
Summary: It's been four years since Peter left Wade after a huge argument, and though Wade has tried to move on, he's angry and barely holding it together. Violence becomes his main outlet and he starts taking jobs again, but when he hits bottom, an unexpected chance to turn his life around might be within his grasp.





	Save the Date

Wade didn’t celebrate New Year’s Eve on December 31st like everybody else. His years ended on December 18th and started all over again the next day.

There was a throwing knife embedded in the wall calendar in the box for December 18th. It was just another morning ritual at this point. Wade liked to get up early on December 18th and knife it, as though stabbing the page would somehow kill the horrible date that rattled around in his head all year long.

**We knew it was gonna happen.**

_Maybe this year he’ll come back._

**Don’t bet on it. Why would he?**

Wade was cleaning his guns on the rug in front of the fire, legs crossed, humming to himself. It had been four years, which seemed like plenty of time to move on from what had apparently been nothing but a joke, but maybe time didn’t heal everything. Wade shined the barrel of his handgun with a little more force than necessary, frowning. The firelight was reflected in the metal, licking over the surface. Wade slammed the gun down on the stone floor and shut his eyes, vainly trying to blot out memories of Peter’s tongue dragging along his neck, sliding hot and wet against his own as he pressed Wade into the mattress and ground their hips together.

Wade clenched his fist, bunching the fabric of the rug as he tried to control his anger and his thoughts, but it was all _Peter_ , and Peter’s fingers gripping his thighs, holding them apart, as he slid into Wade, moaning against his collarbone and mouthing at his shoulder as he rocked into him, filling him over and over again until Wade’s moans filled the room and he felt like he’d be full of Peter forever. And then Peter leaving and never coming home.

“Oh stop sniveling,” Shiklah said, gliding into their bedroom. She eyed the wall calendar in distaste and plucked the knife out of the page. Bug settled around her shoulders and lashed his tail.

Wade wiped his eyes and picked up the polishing cloth again. “Sorry,” he muttered.

He closed his eyes briefly and saw Peter with his backpack on, storming out of their apartment, door slamming after a huge fight. He’d said he was going to stay with his aunt for a few days while he cooled down. Ha. Of course he’d left. Why would he stay?

“If you’re going to go, then get going soon. I’m having company over.”

“Company of the furry masculine persuasion?” Wade growled.

Shiklah sniffed. “I don’t see why you care. You’re hardly ever home as it is and when you are, you’re pining after that mortal who left you. You should be by my side, my beautiful monster, ruling and doing my biding, but you refuse.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder and sat down in front of her vanity. “No matter. You’re mine. Just come back before the year’s out. We have battle plans to forge and people to threaten.”

“Yes ma’am,” Wade muttered, gathering up his weapons. He packed his duffle bag, gave Shiklah a kiss, and left.

 

At first, Wade had waited for him to return from his aunt’s, but when a few days stretched into weeks stretched into months and then years, Wade had slowly come to terms with the fact that Peter had left him for real, and he had moved on with Shiklah.

If he ever saw Peter again, Wade wasn’t sure whether he’d cry or try to kill him. After the second week without Peter, Wade had shut himself up in their apartment and trashed the place in a rage before sobbing and passing out on their bed. A month more of depression, the boxes, bloody walls, and loneliness, and Wade had gone back to taking jobs, purposefully seeking out the scum of the earth and finding creative new ways of ending them. It was a distraction.

But none of it _helped_.

And now he was a depressed wreck, more prone to violence than ever before, and on the shitlist of the Avengers and the X-Men and the Fantastic Four. He might as well stay in Monster Metropolis with his wife. The surface world wasn’t exactly welcoming him with open arms. Hell, Wade wouldn’t welcome himself with open arms. Now, two loaded pistols, on the other hand.

His newest job was to take out a powerful mob leader. Wade had seen this guy rise through the criminal ranks over the past decade and knew he wasn’t the type to mess around with. But he was Deadpool and Deadpool always found his mark.

It was easy, really, which was frustrating. Daredevil had shown up on the scene before Wade and had taken out almost every single one of the guy’s henchmen. Wade slipped into the wreckage of the bar after Daredevil had left and hunted around, picking off anyone who moved, until he found the boss in his safe house a few blocks over. Sometimes he saw Peter’s face in the men he killed, but he never stopped to think about what that might mean.

“Any last words?” Wade asked, aiming his gun at the man’s head. He pulled the trigger. “Too slow.” He shrugged.

The safe house was an old Victorian-style home, endlessly creepy with cracked wooden trim and chipped paint. The windows had yellowed over time and the carpets were threadbare, but the inner rooms of the house were modern, full of tech and weapons.

In the basement, he found some gasoline tanks stacked against the wall in another reinforced room. Perfect! He’d blow the place up. Maybe he’d even stick around for it. He hadn’t gone this way in a while. Last time had probably been his grand exit from that oxygen deprivation chamber.

Wade slid down the wall until he was seated on the floor. He withdrew a grenade from his utility belt and pulled the pin.

“Oh, that’s loud—”

 

Wade woke up in a pile of ashes and rubble, gasping for breath. He had been in the basement levels of the house, so he was a little in over his head, literally. One of the support beams had collapsed, but it had wedged itself against the wall at Wade’s back, which was still standing.

Wade was surprised a house that old had such strong foundations, but then again, it looked like it had been reinforced and modernized a time or two since the mob leader had moved in. Wade used the wall for support as he stood and swayed on his feet a bit. There was no sign of his duffle bag and his suit had burned completely away.

“Shit,” he said. He should have thought of that, before sticking around for the fireworks display, but he hadn’t exactly been at his best.

“Please,” said a voice.

“White? Yellow?” Wade asked, tapping his head.

_It’s not us._

**Yeah, not us.**

There was a weak cough and the voice said again, “Please.”

Wade turned around in circles, looking for the source of the voice, but he was the only one stupid enough to be in this ruin of a house. Plus, the house had been empty when he’d gone in.

“Please.”

**Behind you!**

_This isn’t ‘Blue’s Clues’ you motherfucking moron._

“I actually like that show, you know. Don’t trash talk Blue.” But it couldn’t hurt to look again, so Wade turned around.

A chunk had blown out of the foundation wall he had been leaning on, revealing another room, pitch black and smelling of dampness and mold and filth.

“Hello?” Wade called. He reached automatically for his flash light, but it had been destroyed in the blast, along with his belt. “Anyone home? Nice place.”

He picked up a chunk of rubble and slammed it into the wall to enlarge the crack until he could squeeze through.

The last bits of daylight filtered into the dark chamber, just enough for Wade to make out a figure slumped in the far corner. He approached cautiously.

“Who are you?” he asked. “Did Mister Mobster brick you up down here? That’s some Edgar Allan Poe shit. I don’t suppose you have any wine…?”

That drew a faint chuckle from the corner.

Wade crouched down beside the figure and reached out slowly. It was a young boy. Wade grasped the boy’s arm as gently as he could. His bones felt thin as twigs and he could feel the two shifting under his fingers in the boy’s forearm. A thick set of manacles were attached to his wrists. Wade set the boy’s arm down, afraid the heavy drag of the metal might fracture the delicate limb.

“My god,” Wade breathed. “How long have you been down here?”

“No idea,” the boy said, voice rough from disuse. “They captured me. I couldn’t get out. I could always get out of things before.”

“I’ll get you out of here,” Wade promised. “My suit got burned up in the explosion. I’m going to go get some tools and I’ll be back to free you.”

The boy flinched away violently at that. “Please,” he begged. “Don’t hurt me.”

“No,” Wade said, cursing under his breath. “The tools are to free you. I need to get these cuffs off you. And I need a light in here. I can’t see a thing.”

“No, please. It hurts.”

“What hurts?” Wade asked, concerned.

“The lights.”

“Okay.” Wade nodded. “Okay. I’ll bring you a blindfold to protect your eyes, but I need a light to see what I’m doing. I’ll be right back.”

Wade heard him lean back against the wall with a defeated sigh.

“I have to get out,” the boy said softly. “I have to find him. He must hate me.”

 

It was nearly dark now. Wade jogged through the streets, keeping to the shadows. Luckily it was in a pretty rough area of the city, so a terribly scarred naked man in the streets was the least of peoples’ concerns. Wade reached one of his safe houses and began filling a backpack with first aid and other supplies. He suited up in one of his older suits and strapped two pistols to his thighs. He could find only one katana in the safe house, but it was better than none. Lastly, he brought some explosives in case his tools couldn’t break the chains. It sickened Wade that someone would be kept in a cage like that.

He didn’t know why he was helping the guy. A few hours – or however long it had been – he’d been feeling murderous and depressed and angry, hardly a heroic frame of mind. And now he was heading back to the leveled house to rescue a trapped kid. He refused to think about phoenix symbolism though. He’d just had a momentary lapse of softness. Probably all because it had been _that_ day.

It wasn’t _that_ day anymore though. It was Wade’s New Year now. Maybe things really would be different this year. He was starting it off on a pretty low high note, but everything had to start somewhere.

 

The boy was just where he’d left him, as expected. Wade climbed in through the hole again and tied one of Peter’s old scarves around the boy’s eyes.

“There,” Wade said. “That should help. But keep your eyes closed, just in case.”

Wade’s hands brushed something soft and tangled as he drew back. He turned on the little lantern he’d brought and set it on the ground before looking back to assess the boy’s injuries.

“Holy…”

The boy wasn’t a boy. He had a wild tangle of beard and hair around his face, the rich brown making the sickly white pallor of his face stand out even more.

But that wasn’t what finally drew Wade’s attention. Though most of the man’s clothes were in tatters and rags, there was no mistaking the dirty and faded red and blue, crisscrossed with black webbing, clinging to stick-thin arms and legs and a hollow chest.

Wade gasped.

“What is it?” the man asked, coughing. The cough shook his whole body and rattled the chains.

Wade stared at him for a few more moments, breath coming in harsh gasps now.

He almost choked on the words. “Baby boy?”

The man in the corner went very still.

“Baby boy, is that you? It’s you, isn’t it? Oh my god.” Wade crawled toward him and pulled the man into his lap. It was like lifting cardboard boxes.

The man put up a faint struggle, but slumped against Wade in exhaustion a moment later.

His mouth opened and closed it again as he tried to speak, but let out only little puffs of air against Wade’s neck.

“W…W…Wade. Wade?”

“Yeah. I’m here, Petey. It’s really me.”

Peter shook his head slowly. “No, it can’t be. I left him and then I couldn’t find him anymore and he hates me now. He said so. I see him sometimes and he’s so angry. Why hasn’t he killed me yet? I deserve it.”

Wade suppressed a growl and clenched his teeth. No, no, not his Peter.

Wade yanked his mask off and gently lifted Peter’s manacled hand to his face.

“Am I lying to you, sweetheart? It’s me. I don’t hate you. I thought I did for so long because you were gone, but you were trapped here and I… I didn’t look. I didn’t find you. I didn’t come after you.”

With Wade’s help, Peter’s fingers ghosted over his skin, feeling the bumps and ridges of scar tissues, pressing lightly into the dips and running over his cheekbones and jaw. His thumb brushed a tear away and Peter began to tremble.

“I… I want to see you.”

Wade untied the blindfold and set it aside. He brushed his fingers over Peter’s face and felt more tears slipping down his own cheeks.

“Open your eyes, Baby boy.”

Peter opened them very slowly, squinting as he adjusted to the blue light of the lantern. He looked up at Wade and began crying, sobs wracking his whole body. But he never took his eyes off Wade.

Wade was used to people crying at the sight of his face, but this was different, so different. He held Peter close and pressed their foreheads together.

“Wade, Wade,” Peter said. Wade pressed his lips to Peter’s and drew his tongue lightly along Peter’s bottom lip. Peter sighed.

“I’m going to get you out of here, Baby boy. Then I’m going to take you home.”

“Wade, I…I don’t want you to see me like this.” He tried to hide his face, but Wade just stroked his cheek and held Peter’s head against his chest.

“It’s okay, Petey. You’re safe. I’m here now.”

Wade swallowed and held Peter in his arms.

He kissed him again, a New Year’s kiss.

 

 


End file.
